


Care and Keeping

by orphan_account



Series: Daddy Stiles [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Derek, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Lacrosse Player Derek, Love, M/M, Making Love, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Protective Stiles, Smut, Some Plot, Stiles Takes Care Of Derek, erotic water bottle drinking, semi-hurt derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 15:19:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3697184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles loves watching Derek play lacrosse, loves seeing the determination and passion on his face. That is, until he sees Derek get knocked to the grass, a beast of a high schooler standing above him in the opposing team's uniform.</p><p>. . . .</p><p>Derek gets hurt (not really) and Stiles takes care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Care and Keeping

**Author's Note:**

> For everyone who has read the series and especially those who kept asking for another. (I did promise it, so, like, thanks for making sure I wasn't a complete lazy loser)

Stiles can't say that he's ever even remotely considered the idea of missing high school lacrosse. Homophobic locker rooms, bruises from sprinting walls of muscle, warming the bench for most of his time there- honestly, he kind of (possibly forcefully) forgot about it.

That is, until Derek.

Derek, the teen he was taking care of and watching out for, the teen he'd been in love with for god knows how long- he loved lacrosse. And god, Stiles can't help but admit how gifted the boy is at it. His body is lean and muscled, probably the definition of agile if he ever bothered to look it up. But Jesus, the way Derek moves himself across the field; easily turning around in time with his team as he runs ahead, making every goal, his muscles contracting in different increments, his eyelashes fluttering as his hazel eyes seek out the other team, keeping track of their every motion, his flushed cheeks guiding the droplets of sweat making their way down his body-

It's downright pornographic. 

He shakes himself, trying to appear less affected by the teenager who's essentially been his son for the past couple of years. _Try not to be a perv, try not to be a perv._ He accomplishes it for maybe two minutes, vaguely looking around, pretending to find the cheerleaders interesting before realizing that that is not much better in terms of trying not to look like a parental pervert. So Stiles shrugs, accepting his fate as the creepy guy in his twenties and turns his attention back to Derek-

And, oh god, oh holy mother of shit, Stiles feels his face heat, the blood in his body quickly rushing south. Not that Derek is even truly doing something obscene, but he's chugging down water like his life depends on it, like hydration truly is key to winning this game. 

The boy is sucking down water, his hand squeezing tightly around the bottle, the tendons constricting and flexing as he lets the liquid flow easily down his throat. That, that Stiles could probably breath through, but Derek's eyes are fluttering, his face still flushed and sweaty- but suddenly he blinks, looking upward toward the scoreboard, still fluttering his lashes like he does when he's on his knees in front of Stiles-

_Don't be a perv, don't be a perv, what the dick duck frickity fuck, don't be a fucking perv-_

He jumps about a fucking mile in the air when the buzzer goes off, signaling the beginning of the last quarter. Derek drops the water bottle, taking a deep breath and searching the crowd to smile at Stiles before running onto the field. Stiles' heart gives an astounding _thump_ , and a smile tugs relentlessly at his lips. 

Stiles somehow feels more relaxed, calmed down from his desperate gazing at Derek. He watches the game, unabashedly smiling with pride as Derek scores another goal; there's no way they're going to lose, having upwards of ten points over the other team. Stiles is thinking about how keyed up Derek will be, about how he'll be tired but still running on adrenaline, will probably want to be the one taking _Stiles_ apart tonight- 

There's a loud, aching cry that echoes across the field that makes Stiles cringe and vaguely terrified. He doesn't realize why until he sees one of the players for BHHS on the ground, a monster of a high schooler standing above him sporting the opposing team's uniform. 

_No, no, no, no. Please-_

The stands, the parents with cheers dying in their throats, the teams and coaches and players- it all becomes a fluid background, static, as Stiles stumbles down the stands and onto the field. He doesn't even register how far he's gotten until the athletic medic is suddenly next to him, pushing him back away from where Derek is laying on his back in the grass, his body heaving with his strained breaths. 

Stiles pushes through two of the players surrounding Derek, falling to his knees and gently brushing Derek's hair back from his forehead, not daring to move his head out of fear of hurting him more. Derek groans as the medic gently presses against his ribs, but he huffs annoyingly when Stiles gently coos at him. 

It's just so Derek, the grumbling, faint growl, that Stiles smiles slightly feeling a weight come off his chest. Derek blinks up at him, giving him a lopsided smirk, and then they're just staring at each other, probably for too long, but Stiles doesn't care, just gazes down at the one person who makes his heart ache with affection and love. 

He's brought back to reality when a hand claps onto his shoulder, the medic pulling him up. 

"It's nothing bad, he just got knocked down hard. He's just winded, probably a few bruises, but no ribs or seriously important spots bruised or hurt. He's good to play if he feels up to it." 

Derek struggles to push himself up, his teammate Isaac pulling him up and onto his feet. Stiles doesn't think he imagined the small, pained groan that came from Derek.

Stiles can feel the protests coming, and he cuts it off with a curt head shake, "No, I think I'll take him home. I don't want him to make it worse." 

Derek looks up sharply, an argument already on his lips, and Stiles easily slides next to him, taking Isaac's place in holding up Derek. He walks determinedly, knowing Derek has no choice but to keep up. 

"Come on. You have literally already scored all the goals for them. Let some future Stiles get some playing time, okay? Even then, there's no way you guys can lose." Stiles whispers to Derek, rubbing circles into his side where his hand rests. Derek smiles softly, nodding slowly against Stiles' shoulder where his head rests. 

Stiles smiles back before looking ahead, getting a nod from the coach (how is Finstock still alive?) and heading towards the parking lot. The ride home is quiet and easy, Stiles obsessively asking if he's okay, over and over. 

But Derek humors him, assuring every time, that yes, Stiles, I am okay. Stiles still asks, even when he pulls up to their house, helping Derek out of the car, even though the boy has started breathing completely normal and there is no trace of a limp. Derek still holds him tight to his side though, and Stiles brushes his hair back, kneading gently at Derek's head until the boy smiles and groans happily. 

They walk through the front door, Derek reluctantly leaving Stiles' side to go shower and change. Stiles feels bereft at the loss of Derek's warmth (despite how much he smelled like sweaty lacrosse) and he begins cooking dinner, pulling out all the ingredients for Derek's favorite soup for when he's sick. 

He shrugs, figuring this is close enough to helping Derek feel better. He turns on the playlist he knows Derek listens to constantly, hoping to heal him through the power of some Portugal band and Led Zeppelin. 

Derek stumbles into the kitchen just as Stiles is putting the food on the table, even putting out the French bread that Derek eats on special occasions, always knowing just when Stiles is finishing cooking. 

He rolls his eyes at the meal though, scoffing quietly, "not that I don't appreciate it, but I'm not dying or anything. Just a little sore." He smirks at the last word, and Stiles can't help but smirk when he remembers all the times he's left Derek sore and worked over.

Breathing through the sudden burst of arousal, Stiles sets the table, even going as far to pull out Derek's chair. "I just- I don't want you to be hurt. You have no idea what it felt like to see you lying on the field. You, you're really important to me. I love you." 

Stiles looks up from where he'd dropped his head to look at his food, and is surprised to see Derek looking at him with just- just so much affection in his eyes. His mouth falls open in surprise when Derek stands up quickly, taking the one step between them and pulls Stiles up and out of his chair. 

Derek runs his nose along the length of Stiles' face, leaving gentle, peppering kisses along his cheeks. The last kiss lands on his nose, and Stiles lights up, pulling Derek closer.

But he hesitates, suddenly unsure, "Are you sure you're okay to do this? I don't want to hurt you."

Derek shakes his head, pulling Stiles by the hand to where they've been sleeping together for the last couple of months in Stiles' room. By the time they make it there, their hands are wandering, sloppy, clinging kisses exchanged between them. 

They stumble backwards until Stiles is sitting on the edge of the bed, Derek in his lap, sighing softly into his mouth. The younger boy gasps though when Stiles grabs his ass, gently kneading the muscled flesh before pulling Derek up higher on his lap so they can rut messily against each other, their clothed bodies arching and straining together. 

Derek is attempting to work both their pants and shirts off at the same time when Stiles pulls back, nipping down Derek's throat before licking a long, eager strike up the taut tendons, ending with a nip to Derek's earlobe.

"Turn over for me, baby." 

Derek whines, high in his throat, before gently laying himself down, naked except for his boxers, his hard cock already wet and straining. Stiles frowns at the lines of bruises lining Derek's abdomen, and leans down, leaving soft, barely there kisses on the purpled skin. Derek arches into the treatment, a pleased hiss leaving his tight mouth. 

Stiles trails the kisses upward, breaking apart quickly to strip naked, Derek's wide, loving eyes watching him the whole time, before darting down and sucking hard on Derek's nipple, reveling in the tortured whine and desperate cant of the younger boys hips. 

Stiles reaches between them, stroking gently at Derek's clothed erection, as he leans up and kisses Derek, slow and deep. Derek's grasping at Stiles' back, shoving his hips up and whining softly into the kisses. Stiles breaks off, taking time to kiss Derek's cheeks and chin, rubbing his nose against Derek's before leaving an aching kiss in the center of Derek's forehead. 

When they pull apart Derek's looking at Stiles with awe on his face, unashamedly showing his love, his _reverence_ , for the older man.

"Please, Daddy. I- I want you." Stiles smiles and nods, gently reaching down and pulling off Derek's boxers, watching as his arousal springs free and Derek's hips jump at the sensation. 

Derek's already stretched from earlier, and Stiles works a finger in first, wanting to draw it out and make Derek feel good. The young man arches into the digit, his hips rolling to try and get Stiles where he needs him. Stiles gives in, sliding in a second finger as he places sweet, nipping kisses along Derek's thighs before swallowing his erection down whole, eyes watering at the feel of Derek hitting the back of his throat. 

It's worth it though, for the way Derek lets out a harsh cry, his body arching off the bed and hips jumping eagerly. The motion shifts Stiles' fingers inside him and suddenly Derek lets out a hot little sob when Stiles pushes hard against Derek's sweet spot.

" _Oh_ , oh my god, Daddy. Please-" Derek's making aborted movements with his hips, like he wants to thrust up but he doesn't want to choke Stiles. Stiles pulls off with a obscene pop, working his fingers faster and harder inside of Derek, mercilessly rubbing against the sensitive nub inside him. 

"Want you to come like this, baby. Want to watch you fall apart on my fingers before I take you apart with my cock." Stiles' voice is rough, already sounding fucked out, but god, the way Derek's eyes screw up and his lips fall open on a whimper makes it worth it. Stiles slows his fingers, choosing to rub in rhythmic, tight circles where Derek's most sensitive, before pressing just behind the boy's balls, pushing up gently. 

"Daddy!" Derek cries out, a wanton moan leaving his mouth as he comes across his own stomach, his thighs and body shaking like a leaf, desperately coming longer as Stiles continues to move his fingers. 

Stiles lines up his cock and pushes in gently, giving Derek time to adjust, watching his cock give a feeble twitch at the feeling of being filled. Stiles leans forward, hitching Derek's thighs up so his legs are wrapped like vines around Stiles' hips, giving Stiles just the right angle to make Derek wail, his cock fattening up already, too sensitive. Stiles moans softly, loving the way Derek squeezes helplessly in response, his body wet and eager and accepting of Stiles'. 

They kiss, clinging and wrapped up in each other, their bodies becoming one pulsing, pushing and pulling being. Stiles' thrusts are deep and powerful, but they're slow, Stiles wanting to make Derek feel good, but wanting him to feel loved. It's slower than they've ever been, sweeter, more gentle in ways that make Stiles' heart ache and Derek's eyes water. 

Stiles buries his face in Derek's neck, kissing and leaving messy hickies on his jugular, unable to stop the string of words coming from his own mouth. 

"Oh god, baby, you have no idea. Love you, love you so much, you're so- so perfect, please, please come for me baby, let me feel it." Derek whines, his hips bucking and his cock leaving streaks of precum in the already drying come left on his stomach. "I want to feel you fall apart, my good boy, are you going to come for me? Want you to know how much I love you." 

He bites gently at Derek's chin, feeling the buzz of his own orgasm on the edges of his consciousness. His hips pick up the pace on their own, chasing his pleasure, watching as Derek just takes it, his body tightening in response. Stiles whines, a moan leaving his mouth before he leans down and softly presses a hard kiss to one of the bruises on Derek's stomach, and that's it. 

Derek's body locks in a tight arch as he wails his head falling back and forth as he cries out, "Daddy!"

Stiles groans, his body stuttering at the sight, at the feeling- 

He empties himself into the boy, both of them whining and crying out at the feeling. Stiles leans his forehead against Derek's, both of them trying to catch their breath. He kisses Derek's forehead gently as he pulls out, smoothing over the wince that comes over Derek's face. 

. . . 

Later, after Stiles had peppered Derek's body with more kisses, trying to make the ache and bruises fade, they finally got dressed in boxers and returned to the now cold soup. Derek laughed behind Stiles from where he was heating up the food, and Stiles turned around, curious. 

"Turns out Boyd beat the shit out of that player that knocked me down." Derek shakes his head, reading off a text from his phone. Stiles just scoffs, muttering about how the asshole deserved it, when Derek slides behind him, his arms linked around Stiles' waist, his head resting on his shoulder. After leaving a soft kiss on the place between neck and shoulder, Derek whispers softly, like a secret, into Stiles' ear. 

"I love you too." 


End file.
